I Cried to Dream Again
by Alpha-alien
Summary: The Hypnocil's effects have finally worn off an Emily is able to dream again. Will she find the happiness she longed for, or has her dream man been a mere figment of her unstable psyche and her need for a companion?  M to be safe/Not so much comfort


Oh, yes.

I'm back.

Might make this a new series, might not. All depends on how I feel.

So, read on!

* * *

I Cried to Dream Again

Emily curled her arms around her shoulders, flinching against the sudden chill. Closing her eyes, she took in a breath, before continuing on along the frozen winter wonderland. Every breath caused a billow of smoke to escape her lips, and her bare arms were begging for warmth. Snowflakes clung to her eyelashes and black hair. Her nightgown gave little resistance against the arctic winds, as her bare flesh beneath the thin cloth grew goose bumps. Her toes felt frozen and warm at the same time. Bringing her hands cupped over her mouth, she breathed into them, savoring the fleeting warmth it gave.

"Hello?" She called out, watching her breath dance before her. She shook her head, pulling the perfect snowflakes from their posts. "Hello?" she repeated, waiting for him. She knew why she was here, and her body shivered from anticipation, as well as the cold. She glanced down at her self, noting her vulnerability. "Where are you?" she whispered, the wind carrying her voice and causing it to echo. Emily knew he was there, watching her. She could feel his eyes burning into her, but everywhere she looked, all there was to see was white, pure snow.

Emily could find the irony in this situation. Surrounded by the purity of snow, Emily, herself, was such an impure being. She could laugh at herself, but felt it would be as much of a waste of time as thinking about the sins she had chalk up in her short, twenty-seven years of life. No, Emily did not want to waste this precious time reminiscing. She wanted to find him, her dream man. She wanted to find Fred.

Her body was decorated with the scars from her previous encounters with the dream demon. While most people would be put off by being scratched to Hell and back by a being that should only exist in their dreams (and in a round-about way, does), but Emily was not "most people". The idea of pain fascinated and excited her. She bit her lip, remembering the sweet ecstasy of having blood drawn in this frozen paradise. She closed her eyes to allow herself a moment to recover, before she continued.

Her peers at work expressed their concerns over her scars, and begged Emily to seek medical help. To humor them, she had sought the help of a local doctor, claiming the wounds were self-inflicted. She heard the doctor whisper a name over a phone to the pharmacy. _"Fred"_. She didn't know who it was, but the Hypnocil kept her from dreaming for weeks, before she realized what the medicine was for. After that, she dumped the tablets down the toilet. Even so, this had been her first dream in two months, and her heart felt like it would pound out of her chest with excitement.

A terrifying thought came to Emily: _What if he wasn't going to come?_ She stopped in place, as the idea, the very _notion_ that Fred was not going to show up, scared her. She felt hot tears spring to her eyes, and they stung as the wind began to bite into her freshly watered face. She pulled her hand up and wiped away the tears. She had done so much to come back, she refused to believe it was all for naught.

"_Where are you, Goddammit!"_ Her voice frightened her as it yelled back at her, full of, not anger, but desperation, want, and fear. Was she so dependent on her dream man for attention that she would yell into nothing? The wind seemed to have picked up, throwing loose, powdery snow around her. She again winced against the bitter cold, feeling anger swell inside her. "You son-of-a-bitch," she spoke finally, as the wind dropped. "You're supposed to be here. You're supposed to be here with me." More tears fell from her face, but this time she made no movement to wipe them away.

"Why?" her legs felt like jell-o, and she soon fell to her hands and knees, crying. She felt like such a child, crying because she wasn't getting what she wanted. But, dammit, she needed this. She needed to see him, to feel his knives dig into her flesh. She needed _him_. She curled her hands into fists, clutching large handfuls of snow. "Where are you?" Opening her eyes, she saw the snow had been painted red. She gasped from shock, and quickly pushed herself up and away from the ground. She looked around; even the falling puffs of snow were red.

Emily opened her fists, allowing the snow to drop back towards the ground. She stared down at her hands, and wiped the remaining snow on her nightgown. She then kicked at the snow, sending it scattering before her. She felt hurt, betrayed even. _Why_? It's not like she knew this dream man. For the months she was haunted by him, she thought she had made him up. If this was, as it seemed to be turning out, the case, then perhaps the Hypnocil had actually removed him from her subconscious, and because of it her dreams became so dull and mundane, that her mind refused to remember them. But, if that was the case, why was she back here? And why was the snow red? A wet splotch fell on her face; Emily reached up and touched it. Pulling back, her fingertips were red. Blood.

Emily looked skyward, and nearly screamed. Instead of a dull gray sky, Emily was now staring at a rusted ceiling. Chains hung limply, reaching down towards her. Snow still seemed to fall, still it's red color, and the same red snow still covered the floor. More blood drops fell onto her skin, and Emily squeezed her eyes closed. She drew her hands towards her hair and grabbed two large handfuls of hair. Tightening her grip, she nearly pulled out her own hair.

Was this some type of punishment from some divine god? Was her body so wrought with sin and guilt that even her dreams had decided to turn their backs on her, and refuse her the pleasure of the "sweet dreams"? It was all so wrong. "Why? Why aren't you here?" She whimpered, sinking to her knees once more. "Why aren't you here with _me_?" She carefully opened her eyes. She was showing the weakness she refused to accept to a dream man that probably never existed. She wanted him, _needed_ him. She felt weak, and dependent on him. Why? He wasn't real. All he ever did was cut her, make her feel pain. No, he just made her _feel_, and that's why she needed him.

"That's not the Emily I know," Emily's heart skipped at least three beats. She quickly turned her head, and saw him, leaning against a wall, his arms crossed. His face was pulled into a judging frown. "Pathetic." He practically spat out the word. Emily smiled, and stood.

"It's you." she breathed, relief filling her body. "You are real," Fred observed her with a look of unimportance.

"I knew you were real. Not even _I_ could make someone as perfect as you up." she continued to speak, not catching the glint of annoyance that began to color Fred's face. "I came back, you see? I'm sorry if I kept you waiting long. It was those damn drugs, see. I didn't know what they were, but when I found out they kept me from you I stopped taking them." She began walking towards him, arms hanging low against her sides. Fred's eye twitched slightly, and his lips pulled tight in a look of disgust. Emily didn't notice this, either. Her eyes, wet from crying, seemed to have glazed over, and she walked as if she had forgotten how to, stumbling over her own feet. When she finally got in front of Fred, she stopped.

"So, I'm back." she said, finally. Her nightgown clung tightly to her flesh from the blood. Her hair hung in strands around her face, causing her to look like a typical onryō of Japanese lore. Bags hung under her eyes, but even though she looked so hagard and messy, she continued to smile. Emily reached out her hand and gently touched the cloth of his sweater. The fabric was rough, and Emily felt soot transfer to her fingertips. Pressing further, she could feel his chest behind the fabric. Fred grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from exploring any further.

"I'm tired of our _little game_," he said, glaring at her. "You're absolutely no fun. I thought you were be different." His grip tightened, causing Emily to wince. "You're just a needy, clingy, pathetic girl."

"You don't mean that," Emily whispered, her eyes wide. "No, you don't."

"_Bitch_, don't tell me what I do and don't mean! I'm tired of our game, and I'm tired of _you_!" His claws flashed, as he shot them towards Emily. She didn't move, didn't try to get away, as the edges sliced into her side. She gave a small gasp, as Fred released her. She looked down, and saw blood flowing from four cuts in her flesh. Emily pressed a hand towards the wound, feeling her palm become saturated in the dark red fluids.

"You said I could be with you." Fred stared at the woman as she spoke. Emily kept her hand pressed hard against her side. "You said you lov-"

"I never said that." Fred broke her off. "Why would I say such words to you?" Emily frowned.

"But you did. You did say it." Didn't he?

"No." Fred drew his claws back. "I didn't." Emily closed her eyes as she felt the metal connect with her arm.

Opening her eyes, Emily found herself staring at the ceiling. She sat up, and cried out in pain.

"Emily? What-" her sister ran into the room, spatula in hand. "Oh, my God! Em!" She dropped the utensil and raced to her sister's side. "What happened? Oh, jeez, I'll call an ambulance!" As her sister ran out of the room, pulling off her apron, Emily pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes and cried, begging for sleep to take hold of her once more.

She needed him. She _loved_ him.

"Fred."


End file.
